She Watched
by spunkiegirl
Summary: Couldn't really think of a title...About a girl watching the crucifixion. Kinda like The Passion, but not quite.
1. Default Chapter

"I bared my back to those who beat me. I did not stop them when they insulted me, when they pulled out the hairs of my beard and spit in my face." (Isaiah 50:6)  
  
"It was the will of the LORD that his servant grow like a plant taking root in dry ground. He had no dignity or beauty to make us take notice of him. There was nothing attractive about him, nothing that would draw us to him. We despised him and rejected him; he endured suffering and pain. No one would even look at him -- we ignored him as if he were nothing. But he endured the suffering that should have been ours, the pain we should have bourn. All the while we thought that his suffering was punishment sent by God. But because of our sins he was wounded, beaten because of the evil we did. We are healed by the punishment he suffered, made whole by the blows he received. All of us were like sheep that were lost, each of us going his own way. But the LORD made the punishment fall on him, the punishment all of us deserved." (Isaiah 53:2-6)  
  
"Greater love hath no man than this, than to lay down his life for his friends. Ye are my friends...." (John 15:13) 


	2. chapter2

It bothered her, somehow. The blood ran down his face, and no one wiped it off. The agony he suffered was excruciating, yet it was this one small thing that bothered her the most. (She remembered when she had fallen, running down the street, and cut her head. How uncomfortable the blood dripping down her face had felt, and the relief at having her mother gently clean it off and bandage the wound.) She had followed this man, this man who said he was God, all along the way to Golgotha, from the Garden at Gethsemane until now. Because her dad was a soldier and wanted to instill a respect for the law into her, she was often allowed, even forced, to watch at trials.  
  
She would never forget those twelve hours. She had been sent ahead by her dad. He wanted her to see it all, from beginning to end, but didn't want her with the other soldiers in case it got violent. He had heard of this Jesus of Nazareth who said he was the long-awaited Messiah. Her dad regarded this man's claims as the worst kind of blasphemy. Arresting him would be his personal victory. She too, had heard of Jesus, and had even seen a healing. Only one, and she had put it down to cheap parlor tricks then and nothing anyone told her could change her mind. While at the Garden, waiting for the arrest, she had seen and heard him praying asking his "Father" (God, she wondered?) to take this cup from him, and finally, whispering "Not My will, but Thine be done." She remembered the shock she'd felt, both at the sorrow in his voice, and the strength and courage that allowed him to put the will of his Father over his own. She didn't believe in this Father, at least not as Jesus did, but Jesus obviously believed, and there was never any doubt in her mind that he knew what was coming. And he was accepting it. As she was puzzling over this, she heard voices and looked up to see her father and the other soldiers, led by Judas Iscariot, walk up to Jesus. Jesus' other disciples had crowded around their master, watching the approaching crowd wearily. Judas had walked over to Jesus, and for a moment everything and everyone had seemed frozen. Then Judas had kissed Jesus quickly on the cheek and stepped back as the soldiers came forward to arrest him. Jessica saw the look of glee on her father's face. ("Thirty pieces of silver!" her dad had been boasting to her mother a few nights ago. "For only thirty pieces of silver we have finally convinced one of his own apostles to betray him to us!" Her dad had laughed; he would have paid many times that for the pleasure of seeing this heretic get what he deserved. And now, it seemed, his wish was being granted.)  
  
Jesus wasn't offering any resistance, but suddenly one of his apostles - she later learned it was Simon Peter - leaped forward with a sword and slashed off her father's ear. She had begun to run to him, but to her shock, Jesus had healed him. Completely. And yet her father had still arrested Jesus, and had even joked about the healing. Jessica was rapidly losing any respect she might have had for her dad, and if she weren't so curious about this carpenter from Nazareth, she probably would have refused to even go to his trial, much less stay to witness his crucifixion. But she was curious, and she had stayed. She hadn't seen everything, but she had been there when Pilate made the infamous decision to have Jesus crucified. She had also seen where the law was broken to make sure Jesus died. The trial had been at night (against the law), the guilty sentence declared the same day, when it was illegal to declare it before the next, and there were not enough witnesses to sentence him to death. She watched as these laws were ignored. She protested once to her dad, but he firmly informed her that for this man, it was different. For the crime of making himself God, he had to die. No matter how many rules were broken, no matter how many lies were told. She listened as Jesus was questioned. At first she worried that he didn't defend himself, but then she realized that as long as he didn't say anything condemning, he might be allowed to live. He was, she figured, probably just being careful. But then he announced, in front of everyone, that he was the Son of God, and any hope Jessica might have had for his release was gone. Because the Jews didn't have the power to crucify anyone, he was taken before the Romans. And because the Romans wouldn't care one way or another about a blasphemer against the Jewish religion, the charges against him were slightly altered. They told the Romans that Jesus was claiming to be a king, and forbidding the people to pay taxes to Caesar. He was sent between Pilate and Herod until Pilate gave the final verdict: crucifixion, preceded by scourging.  
  
She watched the scourging. Jesus' hands were tied to a post and then it began. The whip, she remembered, was called a flagrum (or flagellum). One of her dad's friends, Simon Deraytha, was a doctor. Deraytha had once explained to her what happened to a person who was crucified, when she was just a young child and had demanded the information. He'd told her the absolute basics then, but told her more as she grew older. "Leather whips" she remembered him telling her, describing the flagrum. "Tied into these are balls of lead and sheep's bone. The lead causes bruises - as the person is beaten, these break open - and the sheep's bone and leather cause cuts as they are struck against the back. When they are done, the back is reduced to shredded flesh and muscle. Sometimes it's ripped open so deeply, you can see the spine. The person can go into shock from loss of blood, and sometimes they even die." She had cried all night after having been told, it was so awful. Watching, she felt those tears returning. When they were done Jesus' back looked like a raw hamburger, and his skin hung off in bloody strips. She felt badly for him. He hadn't slept all night, she knew; between the arrest, the many trials, and then the sentence; and she had seen how his friends deserted him. And now, this. The soldiers put a crown of thorns on his head, threw a scarlet robe over his shoulders and started mocking and beating him. To her horror, they even ripped out his beard. She winced, and winced again when they hit him in the head, driving the thorns in deeper. "It must hurt," she thought. Then "Why does he do this? Had he just not told them he was the Son of God...." They ripped off the robe, and any dried blood stuck to it was ripped off as well. Jesus cried out in pain. Then he was given his own clothes back, and the beam of his cross was laid across his shoulder. The walk to Calvary began.  
  
She would never forget that journey. The hissing, booing, mocking crowds. The man, his back ripped apart, a crown of thorns on his head, stumbling beneath the heavy patibulum to which his wrists would be nailed. She saw again the brutality of the Romans and hated it. Blasphemy or no, whether or not this man was who he said he was, no one should have to go through that. She remembered being told the patibulum weighed around 80-110 pounds. It would have been hard enough for a healthy person to carry that much the 650 yards to Calvary, but with the beating Jesus had received, it was practically impossible. A man named Simon was given the patibulum to carry for him, and Jesus followed. Jessica watched him closely. He looked around at the crowds, as Jess would have expected, but it was the way he looked at them that surprised her. Instead of being angry, as she'd figured he would be, he looked compassionate, even pitying. She saw him speak to a few people, at least until he was forced to continue walking. The people he spoke to seemed, somehow, more...peaceful...less worried...after he spoke to them. Jessica wished she knew what he'd told them.  
  
After what seemed like hours, they reached Calvary. The Place of the Skull. Jesus was laid with his arms spread on the patibulum. The legionnaire placed the nail carefully on Jesus' wrist, between the two bones, and then raised the hammer to pound it in. Jessica tensed, forcing herself to watch. The hammer swung down, smashing against the nail and driving it into Jesus' wrist. Seven inches of metal. Once again, Jesus cried out in pain. The nail was hammered securely in, and the same was done to Jesus' other wrist. Deraytha's voice echoed in her mind "The nails crush the median nerve, causing unimaginable pain...." The patibulum was then hoisted onto the vertical beam (the stipes). His feet were crossed over each other, bent with the toes pointed towards the ground. Again, nails were hammered in, crushing yet more nerves, yet more unbearable pain. Jessica cringed; it was painful enough just watching, she didn't even want to think about how it felt. By now, she knew, Jesus' arms would have been stretched, far enough so the shoulders and elbows would have been pulled out of joint. At least six inches, she thought she'd been told. Because of the way his arms were positioned, he would be unable to breathe properly. Deraytha had told her that most people who were crucified died of suffocation.  
  
A sign was placed above his head -- "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews". Was it true? She wondered. And now, the blood dripped down his face, and she was bothered. She watched and listened as he was mocked. As people challenged him to come down from the cross and save himself. She remembered all she'd been told. His muscles would have cramped, leaving him unable to exhale without pushing himself up. When he did, the nails would have been ripped through his feet. More excruciating pain. There was no way to avoid the pain -- if Jesus rested his weight on his feet, as he had to in order to breathe, pain would sear through his feet. To relieve this pain, he would have to slump back down with his weight supported by his wrists, and then pain would burn through his arms. And whenever he moved, to push himself up or to sag back down, his already wounded back would scrape against the coarse stipes. How much longer would he have to endure this? she wondered. That a peaceful man, who had always preached against violence should die like this...well, it made her sick. She remembered the healing she had seen, the many lives transformed by hearing His words. She no longer believed it to be a trick; it was real. She felt it deep inside, with a certainty that she had never felt before. This man was for real.  
  
As she watched, she heard Him whisper "Father, forgive them, they don't know what they're doing." She shook her head in amazement. That He would be willing to go through this just to save people, even people like her, was amazing enough, but that He could actually forgive those crucifying Him? Remarkable. "I can't believe He's doing this for me" she thought, stunned. A little later, as He cried out "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?" -- "My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?" she felt her heart break. She heard him forgive one of the thieves, saying "I promise you that today you will be with Me in Paradise."  
  
It was now almost three o'clock. "I thirst." She could barely hear His words; His voice was so weak and twisted with pain. He was given a drink of cheap wine, and then He looked at her. Right into her eyes, and perhaps it was a trick of the rapidly fading daylight, but she could have sworn that He smiled reassuringly at her. Suddenly, in her mind she could see all her past sins, as clearly as if they were happening right in front of her. The time when, in a fit of anger, she had pushed her little brother down the stairs -- lucky he wasn't hurt!; all the times she had teased people because of who their parents were or because of a strange accent; the time she had been so cruel to her mother that she had made her cry and made her dad threaten to kick her out of the house; and all the cruel thoughts she had ever thought about people. She remembered all of this and was almost weeping for shame when she suddenly pictured them all being washed away, erased by Jesus' blood, the same blood staining the wood of the cross and the ground below Him. "Thank You." she whispered, hoping – no, knowing – He could hear her. "Thank you so much." He nodded, and a feeling; full of love, indescribable love, and mercy, flooded through her. She started to weep, partly with sorrow at Jesus' fate, and partly with joy that she was forgiven. Then Jesus cried out "It is over!", and He died. The earth shook, and she fell to her knees. One of the centurions exclaimed, "Surely this man was the Son of God!" Then her dad was there, yelling at her to come with him, and she followed blindly, filled with grief that Jesus was gone.  
  
That night she lay in bed, sobbing softly. She could hear her parents speaking. "I don't know what it is with that child!" her dad complained. "She acts as if she's sorry Jesus is gone, when she should be glad!" "Do you ever wonder if, maybe, his claims were true?" Her mother's voice was soft, unsure. "Don't even think that!" Her dad growled. "He was a blasphemer, plain and simple, and I'll have no more talk like that in my house!" The door slammed as her dad left, and she heard her mother sigh and continue with the housework. Exhausted, Jessica fell asleep.  
  
Three days later she heard the news - Jesus of Nazareth had defeated death, had come back to life, and was on the road to Galilee! She ran to meet Him, praying she wasn't too late. As she ran, she saw a man in the distance, though she couldn't tell if it was Him. "Jesus? Jesus!" He turned and saw her, smiled. It was Him. She ran and threw her arms around His shoulders, and He knelt down to hug her back. "Thank You." She said, half sobbing. "Thank You." "Would you like to walk with Me to Galilee?" He asked her. She nodded. He stood up, and as He did so his sleeves fell slightly away from His wrists. She saw the scars from where the nails were driven in. She hesitated, and then asked, "Why would you do it? Why would you go through all of that pain and suffering just for me?" He was quiet a minute before answering. "It was the only way to redeem you for My Father." He said at last. "I love you...and I would do anything to save you." "So You would even go so far as to be tortured to death just to save me?" she asked slowly, her mind reeling. "Yes." Jesus replied simply. Jessica was quiet, thinking. They were near her house, and Jesus stopped. "You should go home, My child." "My dad..." she began, and Jesus nodded. "I know. The best way for you to show him the Truth, is by living it. The only way to show anybody the Truth I have preached is by living what I have preached. You can do no more than that. It is up to him to decide whether to believe in Me or not." "You could just force him to believe in You..." "No. You see, humans have free will, and that free will includes the right to choose whether or not to believe in Me. What kind of God could force His people to believe in Him, yet at the same time claim to love them? That would be hypocritical." Jessica was quiet. "What if I fail?" "Just try and live your life the way I have lived Mine. It won't be easy, and you will not be without your failings, but God understands. And you WILL be forgiven, you can count on that. Remember, I am with you always." Jessica nodded, then walked to her house. She opened the door and stepped inside, ready to face whatever the future held. 


End file.
